Daydreaming into the night (and I'm alright)
by Pensieri
Summary: What started as a two time thing quickly turned into a hell of a lot more for Quinn Fabray. Now she's stuck in a world of supposedly meaningless sex with her best friend, but can the future she wants with Santana ever become anything more than just a hopeful daydream in her mind? (Quinntana one-shot, set after 'I Do')


_A/N- a one shot/drabble that I originally posted on tumblr. Focuses on an alternate aftermath of 'I Do'._

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**Daydreaming into the night (and I'm alright)**

**_Quinn's POV_**

As her fingernails scrape deliciously down my spine, I know that the marks they leave will be more than skin deep. I already know that when she's gone I'll sit and stare at those red lines that map out her intentions, and I'll hope they never fade. As her lips connect with mine I pray that behind each kiss are the phrases I long to hear.

_I want you._

_I need you._

_I love you._

I'd say them all to her. I'd let the words spill from my mouth, tumbling out clumsily over each other if I thought any of them would matter.

But I know what this is to her. It's just physical, just sex. Honestly, with the way this whole jumbled up mess began how can I expect anything else?

She's been my friend for years, depending how you define the word 'friend'. Our friendship has always been hard to keep hold of, tumultuous and unpredictable. We've slapped each other, we've hated each other, but through it all we've always come back to each other. It's just how we are. I guess in some warped way I've always been able to count on her being there in the long run, even if there were times in high school when I would have declared her my enemy. I'm the first to admit that we were both childish and selfish back then. It's not something I'm particularly proud of.

When we graduated and both went off to different states, the distance brought us closer together than we ever were before. I guess it's kind of ridiculous that it took us being so far apart for us to actual value whatever twisted connection it is that we share. I didn't actually keep in contact with that many people when I moved to New Haven, but somehow she stayed in my life like she always had. In her own weird way she was a constant in my otherwise changing world, and I was grateful for that. She undoubtedly became my best friend.

I guess considering everything I should have expected it when things changed between us again in February. When I first saw it coming I remember the vague feeling of surprise, quickly replaced by one of inevitability. It had often occurred to me that all our lives the relationship between the two of us had been constantly changing and shifting because we hadn't found what fitted. But for me, everything slotted perfectly into place when her lips touched mine for the first time. It felt as though everything finally made sense. As if this was how it was always supposed to be for us.

She'd say we fuck, but the word seems too harsh and cold to me, a contradiction to the warmth she sends tingling through my body with every brush of her fingertips over my skin, and the fire that I feel inside when her eyes meet mine.

Friends with benefits. That's what she called it when I casually questioned her all those months ago. Except she doesn't know how blurred the lines have become for me since that night at the wedding.

It started so simply. Slutty wedding sex, as she's jokingly referred to it before. But I knew almost instantly that for me it was so much more than that. I could ramble on forever about that night, the memory of it etched so deeply into my brain that it's like I've tattooed it in there, but I know that my words couldn't even begin to describe how drastically it altered things for me. I haven't got a poetic way with words, and even if I did whatever feeble attempt I made to explain it all could never hold enough meaning.

Sometimes I wonder if she'd still classify us as that, simply friends with a mutually beneficial physical agreement. It's been four months since she used those words, and I know from experience that a lot can change in four months. But then I tell myself it's all just wishful thinking, because ever since things with Brittany ended she's always said she doesn't want another relationship. She doesn't want another complication. So I've never said the things that are constantly on my mind because I don't want to be a complication in her life. All my hopes are just daydreams, and I cling onto them late into the night.

Since the wedding we somehow settled naturally into a new rhythm. She started visiting me here almost every weekend, clearly not wanting to explain whatever we were doing to Kurt and Rachel. I remember the first time she came to visit me at Yale. It was just two weeks after the wedding. I can still recall the way her lips curved when she grinned at me as my dorm room door closed. She put her bag down on the floor and softly pressed her lips to mine and whispered, "It's good to see you."

The butterflies in my stomach swirled viciously and my thoughts pounded so loudly in my mind that I barely heard what she said, her voice simply washing over me with all its complexities. I'd never noticed the way her voice dips and curves over words before, but now those fine details are all I hear when she speaks. The precise pitch at which her voice raises at the end of a question, the way her smile echoes into her words. Even with my eyes closed I can always tell when she's smiling at me from the way in which her voice alters. It's become one of my favourite sounds.

And as easily as that, it all began. We began.

We spent the entirety of that first weekend wrapped up in our own little world, talking into the early hours of the morning and only leaving my bed when it was absolutely necessary. We didn't talk about it that weekend. Instead we allowed ourselves to get swept along with the current, living in the now and ignoring the future. It was only after she'd boarded the train back to New York that I started to analyse everything, wondering what it all meant to her. I asked her the following weekend when she showed up at my door again, as casually as I could manage, and she shrugged and that was when she said we could call it friends with benefits if I wanted.

I didn't dare say what I really wanted, so instead I just nodded and let her kiss me until all my senses were broken and nothing else mattered but the feeling of her body pressed against mine.

Sometimes I think that she has to know the extent of my feelings. Surely she can feel how much she means to me. I feel like every kiss I give her renders me an open book, and with each one I'm begging her to just see the words that are written so plainly all over me.

I'm absolutely and completely in love with her. I love her so much that I can feel the strength of it aching inside me.

Maybe one day I'll be brave enough to tell her. Maybe one day she'll say it back and the words will echo through my world, reverberating deep in my heart.

But for now I satisfy myself with hopeful daydreams because I'd rather have her like this, however painful it sometimes feels, than not have her at all.

In that hotel room we once joked that this was a two time thing, but here we are four months later and I've lost count. My words are still unspoken and the imprint of her body seems to remain forever in my sheets. Each time she shows up outside my door, with that adorable smile on her face, I tell myself that this will be the weekend when I finally tell her how I feel. But somehow each time I fall at the first hurdle, too afraid that telling her will mean losing what we've become.

As I wake up I stretch out my arm to find her, but instead I'm met with nothing but the lingering warmth that proves she wasn't just a dream. It occurs to me that in all these stolen weekends we share she has never woken up before me. Normally I've had time to shower and go and grab us something for breakfast before she finally wakes. I can't help but wonder why she's awake and where she's gone.

I know her train isn't until late this afternoon, and besides she would never leave without saying goodbye. That's not how it is between us. I often wonder if this is how friends with benefits are supposed to behave, because I'm fairly sure it isn't. Most of the time it feels like we're in an unspoken relationship, except it's the kind that only ever lasts for the weekend and stays hidden. There are so many aspects of us that make no sense, that mean too much.

Sweet, lingering kisses as you say goodbye don't mean nothing. Showing up with stupid, little gifts doesn't mean nothing. The way she touches me can't mean nothing. I know it means everything to me.

As my eyes wash over the note she's left for me on her side of the bed, I can't help but smile.

_Morning, sleeping beauty. I didn't want to wake you. I'll be back soon with breakfast. San x_

Sometimes this secret life with Santana feels like one long dream, but it's moments like this when she wakes me up and I feel some spark of hope spreading into our reality.

As the door opens and I see her walk in something tells me that I can't keep my feelings inside any longer. It's becoming too hard. I don't know if it's the way she smiles and tells me she got me my favourite muffin, or the way she grumbles about the fact it's raining outside and proceeds to jump on top of me like an overexcited puppy, or maybe it's the way she kisses my forehead so tenderly it's as though she's scared of breaking me. Her complexity both baffles and enthrals me, and I marvel over how she can go from sweet, to grumpy, to childish all within a few seconds.

"Morning, Q," she says as her lips leave my forehead.

All I can do is smile in response as she hands me a blueberry muffin and a latte.

"Sleep well?" she asks, settling herself down on the bed and sipping her own coffee.

I nod, "You were up early. That's not like you."

She groans, "Tell me about it. I am so not impressed. I asked for a double shot in my coffee, figured it was the only way I'd make it through today."

The words I want to say sit on the tip of my tongue and I try daring myself to say them, but it doesn't work. If life is a big game of truth or dare then I'm not doing either right now, and I wish someone would give me the push I need to leap into the unknown.

The day passes just like any other Sunday we've had together. We cuddle and watch episodes of Pretty Little Liars on Netflix until it's time for her train. My heart clenches uncomfortably in my chest, something that happens every time we say goodbye. It's a feeling I'm still not used to, even after all these goodbyes.

I imagine a different reality, where I can tell her that I'll never hurt her like Brittany did, where I can kiss away all her fears and doubts, where I can tell her I love her. A reality where I don't feel like a coward.

"Q?"

Her voice brings me back to the present, and out of the world I've created for the two of us in my mind.

"I'll miss you, Santana." They aren't the words I want to say but they slip out nonetheless, catching both of us off guard.

She looks at me, a hint of surprise in her eyes. I know it's because we never really talk like this. She looks at me and I can hear the honesty in her voice as she says softly, "I'll miss you too. I always do."

It's the most honest we've been with each other since this whole thing began.

Her train is almost here and I know that I only have a couple of minutes left with her before she leaves. I don't know where they come from, but suddenly the words have spilled out of my mouth before I can stop them. Maybe it was simply her words, or maybe it was the way she looked at me as she told me she'd miss me too, or maybe it's just because I know I can't pretend around her any longer. Whatever the reason, I've leaped from the edge and there's no going back. I'm in the unknown and it's scary as hell. "I don't think I want to be just friends with benefits."

She looks at me for a moment and even though it's busy all I can hear is the silence that hangs between the two of us. It lasts another second before she nods and says simply, "Okay."

The amount of time it takes for me to process that one small word is ridiculous, "Okay?"

She nods, "Do you fancy coming to New York next weekend?"

Her voice is so casual but I know that what she's suggesting isn't. To anyone else the idea of me going to visit her might seem ordinary, but I know it's far from that. We've only ever spent time together here in New Haven, where our world is built for two.

"What about Kurt and Rachel?"

"What about them?" She shrugs, "It'd be nice to have you there."

"Alright. That sounds nice." My heart is beating so loud in my chest that I'm afraid she'll hear it.

She looks right into my eyes as she responds, "It's a date, Q."

Her gaze is diverted to the right as her train comes into view. When she turns back she simply grabs my hand and pulls me in for a kiss, just the same as every other Sunday.

It's not like the big romantic ending you get in all the movies, and it's a far cry away from all the scenes I've imagined in my head but it's more than enough.

I wave at her until her train is long gone, and it occurs to me that maybe I'm not daydreaming anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, this is the start of waking up.


End file.
